“I assume Joe didn’t talk to you about the bridge deaths in the Portland area,” Mason said. Both men shook their heads.

“He know anyone from that area? Maybe I should be asking whoever he hangs out with the most,” Mason said.

“That’d be me,” said Samuel. “Joe wasn’t one for socializing. He kept to himself. If he knew anyone from Portland, I wasn’t aware of it. He watched movies for entertainment. You’ll see he has a huge DVD collection. I told him he could store a lot more movies in digital format than those plastic boxes, but he didn’t want anything to do with it. He likes to own the physical movie.”

“Surely he has other people he talks with,” contended Ava. “Are you saying he’s like a hermit?”

“He talks a bit to the people he works with. I wouldn’t call him a hermit, but he doesn’t go out of his way to get together with people. I can give you the number for the construction company, but they haven’t had any projects for the last few months.” Samuel frowned. “He really does keep to himself. I guess I didn’t think about it until now.”

“How long ago did his parents move to Arizona?” asked Zander.

Samuel raised a brow at the police chief, who shrugged and replied, “I’d say at least ten years. They used to come back every now and then, but I haven’t seen them for about three years. Nice folks. Your medical examiner told me he’d notify them when he had a concrete identification.”

“Good,” said Mason. He had no doubts their third victim was Joe Upton; he’d seen his driver’s license photo and it matched the man he’d seen on the bridge. Dr. Rutledge’s ID shouldn’t take long.

“Records show the house was purchased fifteen years ago; do you know where they lived before that?” asked Zander.

The men looked at each other and shook their heads. Mason knew Ava had already set the wheels in motion to find out where the Uptons had previously lived.

Find where the victims’ circles intersect.

“You’re the only one that went in the house, right?” Ava asked Samuel.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I knew I might have messed up some evidence once I saw Joe wasn’t there,” said Samuel, looking sheepish. “When I saw the blood, I grabbed the backup key from the fence post and checked the rest of the house to make certain he wasn’t hurt somewhere. I really didn’t touch anything except to push open some doors inside. I stepped around the blood the best I could, but I got some on my boots.” He pointed at the house. “I left them on the front porch when I came out.”

The group from the task force, and the police chief, made their way up the steps to the front porch. They gloved and bootied up, and Ava pulled out her camera. They’d requested an FBI forensics team when they’d reached the home, but the team wouldn’t arrive for a few more hours. Mason figured Grandview’s forensics unit would be a fishing tackle box in the trunk of the chief’s car. Ava would take the pictures the group immediately wanted.

Zander carefully opened the door. The group and the police chief stepped through the entry. The odor of iron and excrement assaulted Mason’s nose. To their right, a slaughter had occurred in the living room, its tan carpet dark with congealed blood. And other bodily substances.

Murder is untidy. The bowels and bladder release. It’s not the clean collapse seen in movies and television. When an artery is sliced, the heart pumps the blood out of the body with strong strokes until it lacks the oxygen to keep working. Mason swallowed hard and studied the carpet. How much blood does a body hold? Somewhere from the depths of his mind, he recalled it could hold over a gallon . . . for a normal-size person. It seemed like Joe Upton had held more than twice that. Beside him, Ava started breathing through her mouth.

The four stopped just inside the door, studying the scene.

“He’s left us some evidence,” Ava said softly. “Finally.”

Or did he leave what he wanted us to find?

“Why this time?” asked Zander. “What’s changed?”

The house was silent as the group stood still, each memorizing the pieces of the puzzle that’d been left behind. Ava lifted her camera and started to shoot, the clicking of the shutter the sole noise in the silence.

The home’s furniture was from an earlier decade and displayed the wear of heavy use. The once overstuffed sofa and recliner had permanent impressions in their cushions. The decor was nonexistent, exactly what Mason had expected in the home of a bachelor. A lack of interior design had been apparent in his own home until Ava moved in. A predictable large-screen TV hung on the closest wall, framed by two ceiling-high bookcases packed with DVDs and Blu-rays. Empty Diet Dr Pepper cans and microwave meal trays cluttered the end tables.

A blue tarp, two utility buckets containing discolored water, two two-by-fours, at least six blood-crusted bath towels, and one utility knife lay scattered about the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Zander. “So this is the remains of someone’s obsession.”

Mason silently agreed with the term “obsession.” Their killer had traveled to Grandview for the sole purpose of murdering Joe Upton and assembling his death scene down to the minute details. But this time their killer had left an open window into his world. “We’ll find him. He’s left too much behind. Our answer is in this mess.”

Zander took a step closer, avoiding the blood, and squatted down to get a look at the three-foot-long two-by-fours. Balls of wadded-up bloody tape lay next to the boards. He glanced behind him at the blood streaks on the walls. “There’s the arterial spray Dr. Rutledge told us would show up.” Zander traced in the air the different heights of the wild arcs of dried brown blood. “As the blood emptied, the arcs got weaker.” He studied the floor in front of the marked wall. “And the pattern isn’t broken between where the body lay and the walls. Nothing blocked the spray. Our killer knew where to position himself to not get hit by the blood. I wonder if he learned that from the first two deaths or researched it first?”